He had almost forgotten how beautiful the view was. When they arrived the day before it was already dark.
“Incredible! I’ll be right down.”
He took a quick hot shower. What a luxurious summer house this is, he thought as he admired the lovely tiled wall.
Breakfast was on the table when he came downstairs to the kitchen: a real Gotland loaf of rye bread, butter, cheese, liver sausage, ham, salami, and vegetables. The aroma of strong coffee was spreading through the kitchen. A fire was crackling in the fireplace.
Anders appreciated Leif’s sense for food, and he dug in with a good appetite.
“What service,” he said, grinning at his friend, who was sitting on the other side of the table, studying a nautical chart.
“Tomorrow it’s your turn to make breakfast. I was thinking that we should take the boat out, since it’s such good weather. A light wind and forty-one degrees.”
“It’s great to see sunshine in the middle of December. That’s a real treat.”
“Did you sleep well?”
Anders hesitated for a second. “Like a rock. How about you?”
“Same here. I always sleep well in the country.”
Anders cleared the breakfast dishes and packed up his gear. He was looking forward to the fishing trip.
Two days left before Christmas. Anticipation was shining in the children’s eyes. At the same time, she found herself as far away from the idyllic family scene and the serenity of Christmas as she could get. She woke up in Viveka’s guest room, feeling sick. The pregnancy probably wasn’t the only reason. It had been a late night. She and Viveka had consumed a lot of wine and stayed up talking half the night.
She might as well go ahead and drink wine. She no longer needed to think about the well-being of the baby. She had made up her mind, but she wasn’t able to get an appointment for an abortion until after Christmas. She was going to have to spend the entire holiday noticing the clear signs of her pregnancy. A constant reminder of the child growing inside of her.
She still hadn’t dared talk to Johan. She didn’t want him to influence her decision. Of course it was selfish, but she didn’t see any other option. She had chosen to lock him out. She had distanced herself from him completely and refused to speak to him on the phone. She defended her actions by telling herself that it was sheer self- preservation. It was lucky that he had gone back to Stockholm. That made things a little easier. To see him now would be disastrous. And she had to think about the children she already had.
They had decided to celebrate a completely normal Christmas, with the whole family together. To visit relatives and friends and do everything they usually did. She would just have to suffer through the nausea as best she could. She had only herself to blame, and Olle didn’t seem to be the least bit sorry for her. There wasn’t a trace of the sympathy he had exhibited when she was pregnant with his own children.
When she saw Sara and Filip she was filled with tenderness. They had no inkling of the chaos that was raging inside their mother.
The doorbell rang. With a sigh she got out of bed and fumbled for her bathrobe. It wasn’t even ten o’clock.
When she opened the door she found herself looking at the faces of her husband and children.
“Good morning!” they cried in unison.
“You have to get dressed,” Sara told her eagerly. “Hurry up!”
“What’s going on?”
Emma cast an inquiring glance at Olle, who was looking sly.
“You’ll see. Go and get ready. We’ll wait.”
Viveka was now up, and she came out to the entryway.
“Hi. Has something happened?”
“No. We’re just here to pick up Emma,” said Olle cheerfully.
“Come into the kitchen and wait.” She turned to the children. “Would you like some juice?”
“Yes!”
Fifteen minutes later Emma was ready, and they set off. Olle drove south, heading away from Visby. In Vibble he turned onto a road leading through the woods.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
They parked outside a solitary house and rang the bell. Dogs could be heard barking inside. The children were jumping up and down with excitement.
“That’s Lovis,” shouted Filip. “She’s so cute!”
A young woman of about twenty-five opened the door, holding a baby in her arms, and with a golden retriever circling her legs. The dog was overjoyed to see the visitors.
Emma had to wait in the hall while the others hurried out to the kitchen. She could hear them whispering. Then they came out to join her, first Olle with an adorable golden puppy in his arms, followed closely by the children.
“Merry Christmas!” said Olle, handing her the puppy, who wagged her tail and stretched out her snout to lick Emma’s hands. “You’ve always wanted to have a dog. She’s yours, if you want her.”
Emma felt herself beaming as she took the puppy in her arms. The dog was small, soft, and plump, and she eagerly licked Emma’s face. The children were looking up at her happily. A ribbon was tied around the puppy’s neck with a card attached: “To Emma with all my love-your Olle.”
She sank down onto the bench in the hall, with the puppy climbing all over her.
“See how much she likes you?” Sara chattered.
“She just wants to keep licking and licking,” said Filip with delight as he tried to pet the puppy.
“Do you want to keep her?” asked Olle. “You don’t have to. We can leave her here.”
Emma looked up at him without saying a word. Everything that had happened flashed through her mind. His coldness had scared her, but it probably was because he felt hurt. And with good reason. Of course she understood. She saw hope in the faces of her children. For their sake she would have to try.
“Yes,” she said. “I want to keep her.”
The call came into police headquarters as Jacobsson and Kihlgard were sitting in the pizzeria on the corner. The Stockholm police reported that Tom Kingsley had booked his return flight for the following day. He was due to land at Arlanda Airport at 2:45 p.m. They assumed that he planned to continue on to Visby the same day. The next flight for Visby was scheduled to depart at 5:10 p.m. The police at Arlanda would apprehend him at the airport and then escort him to Visby. Wittberg called to convey the information, and Jacobsson sent a text message to Knutas to update him.
“That’s great,” said Jacobsson, breathing a sigh of relief. “Maybe we can finally put an end to this whole story so we can have some time off during Christmas.”
“I certainly hope so. If he really is the killer.”
“And why wouldn’t he be?”
“You just never know. Surely he should realize that he’s going to come under suspicion sooner or later. There’s nothing keeping him here. If Kingsley really is the perpetrator, we have to ask ourselves why he doesn’t stay in the States. Why would he come back here and risk getting caught?”
“Maybe he’s convinced that he’s not a suspect.”
“Sure. But it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the guy turns out to be innocent and we have to start from scratch.”
Kihlgard stuffed the last bite of the aromatic calzone into his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
Jacobsson gave him a dubious look. “Optimist,” she muttered.
“I think it’s strange that Knutas seems so certain that Kingsley is the perp. Just because the investigation has come to a dead end, that doesn’t mean he has to grasp at straws.”
“Then how do you explain the morning-after pill?” Jacobsson objected.
Kihlgard leaned back and lowered his voice. “It could be that Fanny trusted Kingsley enough that she asked his advice about those blasted pills, and then she left the instructions at his place. That’s not inconceivable, is
